


Just Like Me

by quantumoddity



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Death, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Fluff, Mental Health Issues, supportive parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 04:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumoddity/pseuds/quantumoddity
Summary: Alexander Hamilton loves his children fiercely and would do anything to protect them. But there are things he can't protect them from. Things that he can't help but feel are his fault.





	Just Like Me

Of course, Alexander Hamilton worried about his children.

Like all parents, he worried about them getting lost at the supermarket and wandering away from him, he worried about strangers trying to talk to them and take them, he worried about them crossing roads, about bullies at school and sharp objects hidden in the grass. His heart tightened just a little when he saw Philip wandering a little too close to the railing near the river, when he saw baby AJ slip on the stairs, still unsteady on his feet. He worried about a lot of things, the way all parents do.

But Alex also had a lot of other worries. Some that maybe other moms and dads wouldn’t even think of.

He tensed when he saw Eliza having to spend ten minutes getting Philip to leave his bed on Saturday mornings. He bit his lip so hard it bled a little whenever he saw Angie looking gloomy, lost in her own little world with her face set in a frown, while her brothers ran around and played. When his little namesake threw his toys and yelled and cried for no apparent reason, even with his parents best efforts to calm him down, Alex would realise he’d been holding his breath for a long time, that he was suddenly panting and gasping for air.

Alex wondered if his kids found it a little strange how often their Pops asked if they were okay, if they were happy. Why every glum mood seemed to have him at battle stations, offering piggy back rides and stories and pulling funny faces in a slightly desperate attempt to get their little smiles back. Why mama would come over and rest her hand on his shoulder and give him a hug and a kiss, like she was trying to reassure him that everything was okay.

Alex tried to dial it back, he really did. He didn’t want to frequently have nightmares where he’d be playing with his kids and they’d suddenly go quiet, they’d blur a little at the edges. He’d have to watch the colour suddenly drain out of their forms, leeching out onto his hands as he held them until it was like they couldn’t hear him calling their names. They’d just slip out of his reach without even moving. And suddenly they wouldn’t look like themselves any more, they’d look like a leaner, warier child, the sad and frightened little shadow he still remembered being even fifteen years later. He didn’t want to wake up panting and shaking, having to run to one of their bedrooms at the risk of waking them up but he just needed to know they were still here.

Eliza would always be waiting with her arms open and her eyes slightly sorrowful when he returned, folding herself around him in that way she knew he liked, holding him close against her until she felt his heartbeat settle to a normal pace.

“My poor Alex,” she’d murmur gently, kissing his temples, in the spot that always made him shiver, “They really are okay, baby, you don’t need to worry.”

Alex would blink back the inevitable tears, burying his face in her hair, “I know. But I do. I just…I just couldn’t stand it if any of them turned out like me.”

It always hurt Eliza to hear him say that, to hear in words how little he thought of himself, but she knew what he really meant. She knew he lived in fear of the struggles he’d faced, that he still faced in a way, somehow infecting their children, like his genetics held some kind of poison. Like along with their amber skin and dark curls and long noses, they’d inherited his anxieties and burdens.

There were some deep-rooted fears that Eliza was forced to realise couldn’t be taken away with hugs and whispered comforts and gentle kisses to the temple. But damn it, she could try and she did, every time they resurfaced.

But Alex was always going to worry.

 

Alex liked to listen to music when he worked. Partly because it helped him find a rhythm, partly because it distracted the admittedly small and underused parts of his brain that would be crying boredom, weariness and hunger after three solid hours of work. Partly because he liked the ritual and ceremony of using the vinyl record player Eliza had bought him for their third anniversary, partly because it had been a fun excuse to annoy Burr back when they were junior lawyers, blasting the Rent soundtrack on repeat through their cramped little broom closet of an office.

But since becoming a father, he’d found a new element of necessity for his music. It drowned out the sounds of his children crashing through their small apartment, not enough that he couldn’t be said to be keeping an eye on them, but enough that their sounds of play and enjoyment didn’t tempt him away from his desk. As much as part of him ached to be with them, running away from the sounds of the ancient, creaking boiler, pretending it was an approaching monster or having lightsabre battles with taped together toilet roll tubes, he just turned the music up louder.

“You can do them way more good sat here,” Alex told himself firmly, pulling another spreadsheet towards him, “It’ll be worth it in the long run.”

That’s what he always told himself when his exponentially expanding political career dragged him away from his family. It was all for them, once he’d built them the future they deserved, then he’d make up for lost time. He just hadn’t done enough yet.

Still, his heart felt a little heavier as he started on this new run of statistics, as a new song kicked into gear.

Not enough yet.

Alex was lost in his own little word of numbers and figures and reports when the sound of the screams jolted him back to reality. He was halfway out of his chair when Pip came flying through the door (they were allowed to enter Pops’ office without asking as long as it was an emergency).

“Pops!” his seven year old looked damn near frantic, the cloud of hair that made him look like he should have difficulty keeping his head upright bouncing erratically as he hopped from foot to foot, “Angie! It’s Angie, she was on the fire escape- “

Philip didn’t get the chance to say any more as his father rocketed past him, eyes wild. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears as a million terrifying scenarios flashed through his mind. Things only got worse as he sprinted into the kitchen and saw his only daughter, thankfully not suspended six storeys above a busy New York street, but hunched over and sobbing and wailing like she’d been stabbed in the heart. AJ was wailing too, his big sister’s tears infectious, but Theo Burr, bless her heart, had him in her lap, rocking him gently and soothing him as best a six year old could. But she was a particular favourite of AJ’s, he was already starting to quieten for her.  

“Mija?” his voice cracked with stress as he knelt by his shivering daughter, a cautious hand on her shoulder, “I’m here, baby girl, everything’s okay…”

But Angie only jerked away from his touch, curling in on herself tighter and sobbing too hard to make words.

Alex felt a sick kind of recognition, his vison going blurred around the edges. She was having a panic attack, he knew the signs and symptoms well enough from his own experience. God, this was what he’d always feared more than anything, the day one of his children flinched away from him, the way he’d turned in fear from his own father. His poor baby girl was having a panic attack and there was nothing he could do, she didn’t want him, she hated him, he’d tried so hard, he really had, what had he done wrong?

He clenched his teeth and gave himself a mental slap in the face. Eliza wasn’t here, she was at work. He was all Angie had right now, he couldn’t let himself slip away.

So what he did was he sat back, the cold metal of the fire escape floor digging into him through his sweatpants. He kept his arms by his sides, his voice as low and soothing as he could make it right now, leaning in while still giving his daughter some space.

“Angelica?” he murmured gently, “Angie, it’s me, it’s daddy. I’m here for you. I promise, I’m right here.”

Careful words, quiet voice, calm demeanour. Just like Eliza would do for him whenever he spiralled, just like his mother used to do so many years ago. Alex had to believe he could do this for her.

And sure enough, after a few moments his words sunk through the dark clouds that had gripped Angie, she unfurled a little, blinking at him through tearful eyes, still spilling over her sweet little face like waterfalls.

“P-Pops?” she squeaked, like she’d just realised he was there.

Alex felt tears spring to his own eyes. He always cried when he saw his little one’s crying, often before he knew the reason. He just couldn’t help it.

“Yeah, mija,” he spoke softly even as his breathing hitched, “I’m here. Baby girl, everything’s going to be okay.”

Angie’s face crumpled further, if that were even possible, a kind of gut wrenching sorrow flooding over it that Alex was very familiar with but had prayed he’d never see on a face so young. She opened up the hands that were still clasped to her heaving chest, revealing what she was holding.

“Oh,” Alex’s heart dropped to his shoes.

“He _broke_ , daddy,” Angie wailed, her face set like one of those drama masks, “Fix him.”

Alex knew in an instant that the baby bird lying in his daughter’s shaking hands was beyond saving. There was blood spotting it’s pebble grey down, leaking onto Angie’s palm. It’s little dewdrop eyes were glassy and lifeless and its beak was open and slack.

God damn that cat to hell, Alex thought bitterly, thinking his first negative thoughts towards his wife’s beloved pet in years.

Angie’s best friends were the birds that perched on the railings of their flat’s fire escape. Eliza swore blind that when she was growing inside her, she’d always kick and jump excitedly at the sound of them twittering outside the window. Alex had felt it for himself, the feeling of that gentle nudging through Eliza’s taught skin chasing away his just woke up exhaustion every time. And then when she was a baby, she’d sit contentedly and watch them for hours, resting her chin on Alex’s shoulder, her sweet brown eyes wide with fascination. It was always a sure-fire way to lull her to sleep. She’d always crow and laugh with delight when they came to visit as they sat at the kitchen table, waving to them excitedly and, more often than not, sending oatmeal or porridge flying from her spoon as she did. ‘Birdie’ was one of her first words, after daddy and mama and Pip. And as she grew, they were all given names and distinct personalities and elaborate backstories. Whenever Angie couldn’t be found, whenever anyone asked where she was, the answer was almost always that she was out on the fire escape with the birds.

And most recently, she’d been even more engrossed, following the unfolding story of two pigeons nesting on the roof of the opposite apartment block. She’d been watching attentively, the hem of her dress and the slightly messy stray hairs in her braids ruffled by the wind since the day she first saw them. She’d even been allowed to miss bedtime one day to sit out there, perched on Eliza’s lap, shivering in her little nightdress and Alex’s coat, to watch as the only chick poked its way from the nest and took its first flight.

The same baby bird that now lay dead in her hands.

Angie looked beyond distraught as she pleaded, “Daddy! He broke, he all in bits, fix him please! Put him back together!”

Alex felt his head break in two as he had to sigh gently, cover the broken form of the little bird with a hand and shake his head, “Oh mija, mi cielo, I am so, so sorry. I wish I could, I really do but…I can’t fix this.”

Angie wailed in distress, “No, no, please! Please fix!”

Alex groaned, reaching to take the corpse away from her, “Poppy must’ve got him, baby girl, I’m so sorry…”

But his daughter pressed the feathery little thing back to her chest, shaking her head and slipping back into uncontrollable panicked sobs. Alex could only watch in sorrow, his chest clenching hard in the most painful way, knowing there was nothing he could do.

But eventually, with more murmured comforts and gentle words, Angie’s grip slackened and she let the lifeless little bird go into Alex’s hands where he gingerly placed it on the steps. To his indescribable relief, Angie let him take her in his arms, rocking her softly as she soaked his t shirt through with mournful tears. He could only repeat in his own head that they never lasted forever, the storm always passed, it wouldn’t last forever. And, after nearly an hour, Angie ran out of tears, left with only soft, catching hiccups. But he had his little girl back.

Alex covered her damp cheeks with kisses, petting her curls, “Oh my angel, my poor girl…”

“Hurts, Pops,” Angie whimpered, tapping her chest, “Hurts in here.”

Alex bit his bottom lip, “I know, mija, I feel it too sometimes. But it won’t last forever. It always fades away, baby girl, I promise. And every time it comes back, I’ll be right here to hold you tight. Okay?”

“Okay,” Angie buried her face against him again, balling her little fists in his shirt. But she did believe him, she always believed her Pops.

“Can you work the magic?” she cheeps after a while, after she had regained her breath, “Really hurts.”

Alex closed his eyes for a moment. One day Angie would have to learn that this pain wasn’t a physical thing, it wasn’t something that was as easy to fight as a finger trapped in a door or a bump on the head. But for now, he was more than happy to keep that truth a secret.

“Of course I can, angel, you just let Pops do his thing, I’ll take care of it,” he nodded, rubbing his hands together quickly, like he was trying to ignite a spark between his palms.

Once there was a considerable heat built up on his skin, he lifted Angie’s shirt a little and placed his warm hands on her skin, right where she’d pointed.

“Okay,” Alex smiled through watery eyes, “Say the magic words and all the hurt with go out of you and into my hands. What’s the magic word, mija?”

“Wepa!” Angie brightened, reciting the magic word Alex taught all his kids to make this little trick work.

Alex grinned, “That’s right! So…ow! Oh gosh, you were right, baby girl, lots of hurt in there…”

He snatched his hand away and waved it in the air like there was some discomfort or pins and needles in it, like he was shaking off some irritating acid.

“But now it’s gone,” he finished the little ritual he played with his children to help them feel better when they were sick.

“Now it gone,” Angie repeated, nodding sincerely, believing every word with the heartfelt sincerity of all five year olds.

Alex didn’t let the storm of emotions that brought up show on his face. He just nodded back, scooping Angie into his arms to fix the rest of the damage with ice cream and cuddles and recorded episodes of Adventure Time, his pile of work and spreadsheets long forgotten. Like that would always be enough.

 

Alex would cry that night, when Eliza got home and he had to relay the whole story to her. Eliza would cry a little too, as she held him through his tears and reassured him that it wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t anything bad. Their little girl was just going to need a bit of help and they’d give her that, no matter what it took.

And, after a little while, Alex would believe her. Because there was nothing he wouldn’t do to help his family.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr if you want to come chat, quantum-oddity


End file.
